


JAOA: Casualty

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [8]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death Fix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-30
Updated: 2001-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jedi did not seek revenge, but they might well seek justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: Casualty

**JAOA, The Clone Wars: Casualty  
Year of the Republic 24,988**

* * *

The chaotic roiling wave of emotion that flowed through the chamber jerked Obi-Wan from a light doze and propelled him out of bed before he could even pinpoint what had disturbed him. Shaking his head to clear the last of the fog from it, Obi-Wan reached up, raking back the loose fall of his hair and trying to find any disturbance in the quiet sleeping room.

The signature ripple threading through the disturbed whorls of Force reached him a moment later, replacing confusion with alarm. Startled, Obi-Wan strode towards the door and out into the main room. Anakin was framed in the doorway of his own room, the short spikes of the boy's hair disarrayed and face flushed from sleep. "What...?"

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan breathed, but Anakin's blue eyes widened as he too recognized the source of the disturbance. Obi-Wan's voice was a low bark of warning as the boy lunged for the door panel leading to the corridor. "Anakin, don't..."

The door slid back on its own, triggered from outside. Trained reflex curled Anakin's body into a loose ball as two conflicting waves of Force reached out, one tossing him back into the room like a rag doll, the other grabbing and catching him, lowering him to the ground.

Framed in the door, Qui-Gon glared at them both equally. A maelstrom of emotion rolled off of him in waves, dark and icy. He said nothing, lips pressed into a tight line. Anakin shrank back slightly, his back pressing to Obi-Wan's knee. The large man's boot heels rang sharply off the floor as he strode into the room, stepping across Anakin and past Obi-Wan to reach their shared sleeping chamber. The door hissed open and snapped shut again behind him.

Obi-Wan swore softly, rubbing a hand across his face to clear sleep from his eyes. "Go back to bed, Anakin," he instructed quietly.

The boy climbed gingerly to his feet. "Master... I didn't mean..."

"No, you did nothing wrong," Obi-Wan reassured him. Reaching out, his fingertips brushed the braid that trailed over Anakin's bare shoulder, tweaking it softly. "I'll see to him, Padawan. Now try to get some sleep."

Anakin's nodded hesitantly. "Yes, sir." He half turned back to the closed door from which the feeling of disturbance stil radiated . "If you need me..."

"We'll call you," Obi-Wan agreed. "But don't wait up listening. Sleep, if you can."

"Always," Anakin replied, eyes crinkling with a wry grin. "And anywhere."

"Then go do it," Obi-Wan reproved softly. "And don't prove it at lessons tomorrow."

The grin had a cocky glint to it, red eyed and bleary or no. "Yes, sir." Obi-Wan waited until the boy had turned away, the door to his chamber shutting and leaving the Knight in the silence of the main room.

Sighing, he gathered the Force to him and strode back into his own chamber.

Qui-Gon had flung himself across the sleeping couch, tall frame splayed out, one arm thrown across his eyes. Obi-Wan dimmed the lights, returning to the couch and seating himself on the edge. The Force spread out and solidified at his touch, reinforcing the shielding of the room. "You've probably woken up everyone from here to the Council chambers," he said mildly. "Take your boots off," he added, tapping the Jedi Master's long legs.

Wordless, Qui-Gon reached down without opening his eyes, loosening and pulling off first one boot and then the other, tossing them both roughly past Obi-Wan's head to land with a clatter in the middle of the chamber floor. Obi-Wan sat still, waiting patiently.

The answer to the unspoken question was some time in coming. Large hands reached up to press to temples and over eyes, muffling the low, toneless voice. "I've been asked to take a seat on the Council."

Obi-Wan blinked slowly, letting his breath out in surprise. "What?"

"I've been asked to take a seat on the Council," the Jedi Master repeated, the words bitten off sharply.

Obi-Wan leaned back on his hands, frowning. "Who's stepping down? I hadn't heard..." But Qui-Gon's shaking head cut him off.

"Not stepping down," the older man said heavily, voice fraying at the edges. His eyes were closed, heels of his hands pressed to them. "Mace Windu's seat has become available."

"Windu," Obi-Wan repeated, breathing the name. He let the shock roll through him and out, into the Force. "Sith. How? When?"

"The Council doesn't know yet," Qui-Gon growled. "Depa felt his passing an hour after evening meal. The officials on Alderaan don't have any specifics for us - Mace was reported missing only when the Council contacted them."

Obi-Wan shook his head, drawing in a hissed breath through his teeth, trying to take the news in. He closed his eyes, bowing his head. "Alderaan. Sith. He shouldn't have gone alone."

"Chancellor Palpatine requested him personally, on behalf of the Senate," the Jedi Master replied flatly. His voice broke slightly, roughening. "Mace knew Senator Antilles. He was the right choice."

"He still shouldn't have gone alone," Obi-Wan insisted bitterly. "What is the Council going to do?"

"The Senate and Alderaan have both requested a complete investigation of Senator Antilles' death," Qui-Gon said tiredly. "The Council will look into Mace's passing as well."

"Senator Antilles," Obi-Wan said heavily, frowning. "Senator Aks of Malastare, Senator Baht of Calamarii, Senator Bibble of Naboo, two attempts made on Chancellor Palpatine's life right here on Coruscant... and now a Jedi Master and a member of the Council." He worried his lower lip, eyes unfocused. "Sith," he hissed softly, but the word wasn't a curse.

"We don't know," Qui-Gon snarled, shoving himself up and past Obi-Wan. He stripped off his outer tunics as he strode across the room, flinging them to the floor with rough gestures. "We don't _know_."

Obi-Wan laid back against the couch as he heard the door to the changing room hiss shut. Moments later, he heard the shower hiss on, heard the splash of the water as a body moved under it. Lifting his hands, he combed his fingers through his hair, massaging the tension in his scalp.

Mace Windu... dead. It didn't seem real. The deaths that had rocked the Senate over the months had been disturbing but bearable - to think that the chain of deaths had now reached out to not only touch the Jedi, but the very Council, was a chill that seeped into his soul.

"Sith," he whispered again, tasting the bitterness of the word. Feeling the cold, creeping certainty of the chilling memory.

Pushing himself up, he walked across the room, stooping tiredly to pick up Qui-Gon's discarded clothes. The door to the changing room slid open beneath his hand, wisps of steam escaping.

Obi-Wan stepped out of his trousers, shoving the lot of clothes into the laundry. Qui-Gon stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, head tilted back to let the water cascade across his face, the short brush of his hair slicked back against the shape of his skull. The younger man stepped into the shower quietly, hands reaching to glide gently down his lover's back.

"What are you going to do?" he asked softly, voice pitched barely above the hiss of the shower.

Qui-Gon let his head tilt forward, hands bracing himself against the wall of the shower. He flinched slightly as Obi-Wan's hand slid over the scars on his back. "I don't know," he said roughly.

The smaller man leaned into him gently, arms circling his waist, lips pressing lightly to his water slicked shoulder as the spray surrounded them both. "What would you like to do?"

Qui-Gon shook his head slowly, hands clenching against the smooth surface of the shower. "I don't _know_ ," he repeated harshly. The flat of one hand pounded against the shower, slapping loudly. "Force. I don't want a seat on the Council. I don't want _Mace's_ seat."

Obi-Wan held him tighter, closing his eyes against the water as he pressed his cheek to one broad shoulder. "Then don't take it," he suggested quietly.

The dark morass of emotion flared around them, thrust haphazardly into the Force. Qui-Gon pulled away, pushing the younger man back almost roughly, his eyes a hard blue as he turned to face him. "I can't do that," he snapped. His expression twisted for a moment and he ducked his head, closing his eyes. "Mace deserves better than this," he said at last, harshly.

"Better than what?" Obi-Wan inquired mildly. "Better than to have someone he knew and trusted take his seat? Or better than to have you take it unwillingly?"

Qui-Gon snorted. "Either. Both." He started to reach up, pushing back the wet tendrils of his hair, and winced slightly.

Obi-Wan reached for his arm, pulling him from beneath the spray. "Sit," he said shortly, gesturing to the floor of the shower outside of the cascading water. "I'll wash it for you."

But the Jedi Master shook his hand off angrily. "I'll do it," he ground out, and Obi-Wan sighed. There was no arguing with that tone, so he stepped back, giving Qui-Gon room as the older man ducked his head beneath the spray and reached for the soap.

He could do it but it was an awkward task, one arm raised to scrub the lather across his scalp, the other hugged close to his chest to minimize the pull of muscles in his chest and back. Obi-Wan crossed his own arms, holding them tight as he watched. Part of him ached to help, to reach up and take the fine strands of silvering hair in his own hands, but he knew better than to suggest it with the tension radiating from the other man's body and mind.

Done, Qui-Gon stepped back from the spray, wiping the water from his face. The swirl of his emotions had dampened slightly, quieting, but his expression was still tight. "I'll take the seat," he said quietly. "Master Yoda already knows. I can't... I won't dishonor Mace by turning it down. I don't think I am a good choice - but I will try."

Obi-Wan let a wry smile touch his lips. "Disregarding Master Yoda's favorite saying," he replied quietly, "I don't think anyone will ask any more of you." Qui-Gon only stared back at him, and after a moment Obi-Wan reached to turn off the water, holding out a beckoning hand. "Come to bed," he said gently. "Don't make any decisions now."

"If not now, then when?" His voice was tired, tinged with grief and the still shifting patterns of angry hurt that radiated into the Force around him. His hand, in Obi-Wan's, clenched almost bruisingly tight. The younger man said nothing, only drew him from the shower and, disregarding the trail of dripped water left behind, through the door and across the floor back to the sleeping couch.

The tension in the broad shoulders made Obi-Wan's fingers twitch to soothe the corded muscles, to work their way down the long spine and ease all of the little knots and points in loving caress. It was not the time for it, though, and he knew it. Contented himself with digging fiercely at the iron lines of shoulder and neck, with the grasp of large hands on his as they tugged him down and the fiery, demanding crush of lips against his own. Offered, body and heart, willingly, to disperse the hurt within his lover's soul.

There was little gentleness in it, rough and hard. The demanding rhythm of it took his breath away, gave it back in the rush of sharp pleasure, in the sound of his name on Qui-Gon's lips, in the arch and twist of his own body as he cried out. Yet despite the burn of the fire there was still the love, twining them together, cradling their souls within a web of emotion sunk so deep across the years that neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

In the stillness afterwards, with the boneless shocks of pleasure still caressing his nerves, Obi-Wan could trace the outline of his lover's fingers in the tingling burn of bruises across his hip. Qui-Gon's breath was harsh across his chest, the damp prickle of the other man's hair brushing the tender skin of throat and chin. Obi-Wan combed his fingers through it softly, felt the answering caress of hands against his ribs. Silence and stillness in the darkened room, a measure of peace in the heart that beat against him in time to his own.

He could feel the whispered words almost as much as he heard them, spoken against his breastbone where Qui-Gon's voice rumbled softly. "I'll accept the position."

Obi-Wan said nothing, only tightened his arms, brushing a soft kiss across silvered strands of hair. The stillness came again, bringing with it the phantom peace of sleep, cradled close in each others arms.

* * *

"The _Council_?" Anakin's voice cracked across the last syllable, a remnant of lingering adolescence that made the boy flush to the roots of his blonde hair, snapping his mouth shut quickly.

Qui-Gon finished the last bite of egg upon his plate, pushing it away as he reached for his tea. His face, in the morning sunlight that streamed through the window, was all but expressionless. "Yes, Anakin. The Council."

Anakin turned his gaze to Obi-Wan, blue eyes begging for the Knight to make some sort of sense out of a world gone mad. "Master Windu is dead?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Ani."

"But..." Anakin looked back to Qui-Gon, one hand reaching up to pull distractedly at the pale strands of his braid. "But you always said you didn't want a seat on the Council!"

The Jedi Master reached out, calmly rescuing the braid from Anakin's grasp. "Stop that," he said reflexively, and Anakin clasped his hands in his lap. Taking a sip of his tea, Qui-Gon kept his gaze firmly focused on the contents of the cup as he swirled them gently around. "I don't," he said at last, sighing. "I never have, and I don't now. There have been too many times the Council and I have been at odds for me to be comfortable there."

Anakin opened his mouth but Qui-Gon shook his head, glancing up. "No, Ani. It's not what I want. But if Master Yoda - if Mace - thought that I could fill that position... then I owe it to Mace Windu to try."

Anakin closed his mouth again, dropping his head. Qui-Gon reached over, gently ruffling the fringe of blonde hair until the boy looked up. "It will be alright," he said gently. "You'll see."

Cocking his head, Anakin met the Jedi Master's gaze. After a moment a smile, irrepressible, crept across his face. "No, it won't," he said impulsively. "Because you're still going to argue with them... but now they won't be able to just tell you to be quiet."

Qui-Gon laughed. "You're quite right," he said, reluctantly pushing back his chair and standing. "Now they'll have to listen to what I say."

Obi-Wan caught the other man's hand in passing, a wordless gesture of support that Qui-Gon accepted gratefully. [Listen to your own words, Master,] he whispered across their bond. [It will be alright.]

Qui-Gon's grin was wry. "It will certainly be different," he allowed. Bending, he kissed the other man lightly. "Council meets today. And what with the matter on Alderaan... I'll see you by evening meal. I hope."

"Force be with you," Obi-Wan replied, brushing fingertips across one cheek before Qui-gon drew away.

"Good luck," Anakin offered as he watched Qui-Gon gather his cloak.

"The Force will make our luck," Qui-Gon corrected gently, ruffling the boy's hair again in passing as he strode towards the door. "Mind your lessons today."

"History drill," he heard Obi-Wan announce behind him, and Anakin's groan before the door to their quarters closed off the sound.

The smile did not last within the bare confined of the corridor. It slid away as the shadows descended, dogging each step through the Temple. Qui-Gon shut his eyes and ears to them, walked briskly, determined. He would do this.

He would.

He repeated it to himself until he stood before the doors of the Council Chamber, repeated it to himself again, a silent mantra. Paused to gather himself, to take the too rapid beat of his heart and the tremble of his breath into hand. He had entered the Council Chamber hundreds of times. This, he told himself, was no different.

But it was, and his traitorous heart knew it and reminded him of it, pounding loud against his ribs.

He closed his eyes, willing calm. "I will do this," he whispered. Only the silence gave reply and at length, with a sigh, Qui-Gon reached out to the doors and let them open before him.

The others were assembled there, eleven in all, eyes turning towards him as he entered. Habit brought his feet to the center of the tiled floor, turned him to bow to Yoda's chair as he had always done. Habit brought him up again, hands folded within the sleeves of his robe, but there habit deserted him.

Yoda sat as he always had to Qui-Gon's memory, and if his ears were lowered, his eyes dimmed to the bright sunlight on this day, then no one could fault him. For long years the dark, solid figure of Mace Windu had occupied the seat beside the tiny Master. Qui-Gon could recall the impromptu celebration that had been held when Mace had first received a Council seat, could recall the man's slow smile outside the Council Chamber and his stern faced role within. Years, it had been. They hadn't always agreed, but surely... surely Mace should still be there. Mace had been several years younger than Qui-Gon.

But he wasn't. Depa, a smear of ash drawn across her forehead in grief for her former Master, her eyes red rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep, sat tiredly upon the seat that Mace Windu had occupied. She had wrapped the warm brown of her robes about her, arms crossed beneath her breasts, her normal serenity almost fragile in the light of day.

Slowly, Qui-Gon turned, meeting the eyes of each Council member in turn. There was Plo Koon, his yearmate, expression unreadable behind the dark shields of his biomechanical eyes. Ki-Adi-Mundi, who inclined his head gracefully. Saesee Tinn, fierce looking despite his calm manner. Yaddle, her green eyes bright in her small face, so silent one might almost forget her. Eeth Koth, dark faced and quiet voiced. Adi Gallia, with the beauty of the predator and a quick tongue to match. Andalu Nia, the crest against the pale blue of her skull darkened nearly to black in visible grief. Yarael Poof, who's slow, constant sway spoke volumes in gesture alone. Lin Eret, the deep lines of his grey face pinched tight about eyes and mouth.

And an empty seat, there, by the doors. An unoccupied chair, sized and shaped for standard human.

Qui-Gon looked back at the Council members. Grieved, all of them. Disturbed. It hung on the air like a bitter taste, an echo of the wrongness of Mace's absence. A living organism, ripped asunder, limb lost, sight blinded. Wounded.

He met Yoda's gaze one last time. Turning, Qui-Gon stalked across the room, across the splashes of bright sunlight that seemed almost to mock the shadows within the room and the hearts of the occupants. Strode to that single empty chair, and, taking a deep breath, seated himself in it.

It was an entirely different perspective of the Council Chamber, viewed from that seat. The view of a peer, of an equal. Of a Council Member. Qui-Gon released the breath slowly, placing his hands hesitantly on the arms of the chair.

His view, now. Qui-Gon Jinn, Member of the Jedi Council.

The tip of Yoda's walking stick struck the ground, a soft thump that drew the attention. The tiny Master drew himself up, but the sorrow lingered in his voice. "Joined, this Council is. Senator Organa of Alderaan; wishes to speak with us, he does."

Alderaan, where Mace Windu had breathed his last. Qui-Gon swallowed back the tremor, steeling himself. The others were already murmuring their assent and he, perforce, bowed his head and agreed as well. If his voice had little strength, it hardly mattered. He was not alone in it, but the sentiment in all of them was clear.

Yoda's voice it was that spoke the words, quiet in the Council Chamber but echoing within each of them. "We have lost a great Jedi. Discover, we will, how this has happened."

Qui-Gon saw it in the eyes of his fellow Masters. A Jedi did not seek revenge. But they might well seek justice.

 

[...to next stage]


End file.
